


Love's Curse

by Malind



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Dysfunctional Relationships, Friendship/Love, Hunters & Hunting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 01:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10263989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: The castle and its sole living royalty have long been a curiosity for Gaston.  On a stormy evening, he is finally allowed to step inside, a moment he has been begging his father to allow.  Had he known what he'd find inside though, he would have kept his mouth shut.





	

The boy, one just touching his teens, ran his hand over the soft brown bear pelt that had been trimmed of its long, coarse outer guard fur.  Regardless of the loss, the large skin would surely keep the kingdom's young prince warm through the coldest winter nights that pressed through the land every year. 

That particular night though, it was raining.  Water washed over the sewn-together, large mishmash of skins protecting the wagon, sounding like poundings of tiny drums that couldn't quite attain the proper tone.  But it nonetheless sounded like music to the boy's ears.  He loved a raging thunderstorm almost as much as he loved the soft fur under his touch. 

"Stop touching them, Gaston," his father's rough voice growled over the thumping water, " You'll dirty them up, and after we spent hours cleaning them.  You do, and you'll be the one cleaning them again." 

Bern turned his head to eye the boy, probably trying to see if Gaston was ignoring him again as he had a tendency to do.  Under the scrutiny, the boy pulled his hand away with a little growl of his own. 

His father huffed with a smirk.  "Mind your manners, boy.  You're going to be in the presence of royalty tonight. If we don't get stuck in this God forsaken mud again, that is." 

Gaston eyed his father back for a moment, wanting to say the same thing right back at his father.  But he didn't say a word since he didn't particularly want another slap alongside the head that night. 

Instead, reluctantly, the boy turned his body all the way around to face forward again and watched the muscular trudging of the wet horses.  Even at that moment, Gaston would have ran his hand over their thick, water-drenched fur.  He loved the feel of fur, the way it moved, the warmth it embraced.  Nothing else could compare to it.  Not even the finest, over-priced cloth compared to what God created just fine with merely a thought instead of hours of toiling. 

His mother had always told him he was one of the most handsy people God had ever created, one surely born to create with those hands until they were rubbed raw and bleeding.  But not on the furs. 

Less than an hour later, two elegantly dressed, but nonetheless drenched guards opened the tall castle gates to them.  The boy had been on the grounds before, but getting no closer inside than the pale white courtyard that always glistened in the sun.  Except for that day, since the sky was nearly as dark as night with the mourning clouds. 

And on that colorless day, Gaston would finally step inside and meet the boy who would one day be their king. 

As the carriage pulled to a stop, his heart racing, Gaston twisted around on the bench, coming onto his knees on it, and scooped up an arm full of pelts, as he got ready to dash into the towering doors that were still closed to them.  He could hardly contain himself as his father turned around and grabbed an armful as well.   

"No talking now, boy.  Keep your mouth closed, your eyes down.  I don't even want him to realize you're there.  Understand?" 

Gaston couldn't contain his toothy grin.  "Yes, father." 

A side of Bern's mouth edged up.  "We play our cards right and this bundle will get us halfway through winter.  Think of your mother and brother when you want to open your mouth." 

Gaston felt a light wash of color come to his cheeks and he lowered his eyes.  "Yes, father." 

A moment later, Bern was climbing off of the wagon.  Gaston was right behind him, his arms heavy with numerous pelts, ones without blemish and carefully chosen over a span of months to present to the young prince. 

Despite how he tried to listen to his father for once, Gaston couldn't help his drifting eyes.  The high-ceiling expansiveness of the castle was unlike anything he'd ever seen before.  Just a small corner of it surely contained more wealth than the whole of his village.  It boggled his youthful mind that one person could own so much.  How was it even possible?  Surely only God had the right to own so much.  Instead, this boy did.  This boy even more or less owned them.  It wasn't even remotely fair. 

What bubbled up from the Gaston's stomach...  He wasn't sure what to call it, but he didn't like the feeling of it and wished it would go away.  Before that moment, he'd always been filled with fantasies of walking down this hall.  Now... 

Now, he realized he despised it. 

They entered a large room.  At the other side were two thrones of equal size.  In one, dwarfed by the massive size of the intricately carved stone, a boy no older than Gaston himself sat.  The young hunter knew who this was even before their announcement. This boy was their ruler. 

And the slight-framed redhead boy clearly knew what he himself was as he sat straight in his mass of blue robes.  The crown about his head hung low, heavy, just above a thickening brow  beginning to show traces of manhood.  And as they stepped closer, Gaston couldn't help but notice the sharp blue eyes framed by furrowing auburn brows. 

When Gaston realized that furrowing brow was directed at him and him alone, the prince's eyes never leaving Gaston's face, the young hunter's eyes widened before he dropped his gaze as he'd been told to do. 

When the two hunters were still at a considerable distance away from the thrones, a group of people suddenly bustled forward and took the piles of pelts from their arms.  Gaston watched as the furs were brought to a table and quickly sorted through.  A minute later, a woman had selected two pelts, presumably ones she thought where exemplary of the rest, and brought them to the prince.  She spoke quietly to the boy, not loud enough to be heard.   

Gaston couldn't help but raise his eyes again.  He swallowed when he realized the prince still looked directly at him.  He tried to hold the gaze out of, what?  Stubbornness?  A dislike for his own head?  But clearly the prince wanted to look at him.  So why not look back? 

When the prince's brow only furrowed further, it was then that Bern finally seemed to take notice of the exchange.  He darted eyes to Gaston, then to the prince, before he blurted out, "Your Majesty, I hope something here pleases you."  The words finally moved the prince's nearly hostile stare to Gaston's father.  Bern's mouth worked for a moment before he added, "These furs were carefully selected for you under my wife's watchful eye.  As you can see, they would be fit for any room of your household." 

The young prince didn't bother speaking to Gaston's father.  Instead, Prince Adam spoke a few words to the woman displaying the furs on her arms.  She bowed and walked back to the table, placing the furs with the others.  She spoke a quiet word to a man who had stepped to her side.  The man, in turn, turned on his heel and walked directly up to Bern.  A small pouch was offered which Gaston's father took  with a small bow.   

Then he offered a larger bow to the crowned prince.  "Thank you, Your Majesty."  And then his father was turning around, apparently not even thinking to count it.  At any other place, his father would have poured that money out and counted every piece.  Here... 

Apparently, here, whatever the prince thought to give them was the right amount.  And, from the past, Gaston knew that amount was normally considerable.  The prince surely did get them through most of the season, all with full bellies and enough new gear to keep up their trade. 

Bern turned around, grabbing Gaston by the arm, and proceeded to usher him back out the door. 

They hadn't gone more than a few steps though before the prince's voice echoed in the chamber.  "The evening is bitter outside." The words stopped Bern dead in his tracks before he turned around a bit too quickly, which sent Gaston swinging around, his own size considerably smaller than his father's.  "Stay the night.  I offer you a warm room and a meal for your troubles." 

"Your Majesty, thank you!" Bern breathed out, wide-eyed, his face ruddy, his hand trembling slightly around Gaston's arm.  "Your generosity knows no limits." 

No limits?  That was the first time they'd ever been offered a room and the weather outside had been far worse at times, especially in the dead of winter when the prince's 'generous' pile of money lightened considerably while the Prince Adam himself had probably never had to worry about a warm bed or food his entire life. 

Gaston looked at his father with a frown, then looked at the prince.  Prince Adam was staring at the young teenager again with eyes that didn't reveal much of anything.  Not knowing what else to do, his heart once again thudding, Gaston could only bow his head, silently agreeing to whatever this night would bring. 

A man stepped to the prince, spoke quietly, as seemed to be the way here, and then walked to the two water drenched men, gesturing towards the door.  "Allow me to show you to your rooms." 

They followed the man silently as Gaston's heart threatened to beat out of his chest.  He'd expected to be led to the far corners of the castle where the servants and unwanted guests resided.  Instead, they were led up the surely grandest staircase in the whole world.  Or, at least, that Gaston would ever know. 

Bern was brought to a room first.  The last thing he saw of his father was of the man's guarded frown that clearly said, _'For goodness_ _sake, Gaston_ _, don't break anything. Don't even move, for that_ _matter,  In_ _fact, don't even bother breathing, or we'll owe more money than we ever could afford.'_ If that was what his father had been thinking, Gaston agreed whole heartedly. 

Gaston followed after the servant and was led into a room that seemed larger than his whole village, certainly larger than his own home.  If it wasn't for the darkness outside that only grew stronger as the sun set, the young hunter was sure the room would have gleamed.  Outside of the elegantly carved wood, marbled white stone promised to gleam in nearly every inch of the room, right from the delicately tiled floor to the ceiling.  The ceiling though, that was covered in a mural that spoke of the greatness of God, of his miracles and graces, of his drawing force every creature around him felt.  It was a masterpiece.  Even Gaston could see that, as uncultured as he was.  And one would have never even seen the mural had they not looked up. 

"Supper will be brought up to you shortly. Good night, Monsieur." 

Startled by the formality of the servant and his small smile, Gaston bowed his head, and said far less elegantly, "Thank you.  G-good night, Monsieur." 

True to the servant's word, food was brought up soon after, not giving the young teenager a chance to even consider relaxing.  Gaston accepted the tray and walked it to the table on the far side of the room.  Eating alone at the table, Gaston finally began to wonder where his father was, if he ate as well, and why they had even been separated at all.  It truly seemed to be a waste of a room to have only himself in it. 

At the end of the meal, when he'd eaten all he could of food that tasted like heaven, even though he'd always enjoyed his mother's cooking, there was still a considerable amount left.  He started to wrap it up to bring home to his younger brother who would surely linger on every morsel as Gaston had.  It was then that a knock sounded in the room. 

Thinking it was his father, Gaston called out from across the room, "Come inside!  You won't believe the..." 

The words trailed off when the young prince entered the room, absent of any servants.  Gaston bolted out of his chair to stand stiffly.   

To be alone in a room with the crowned prince...  Before that moment, Gaston hadn't even conceived of the notion.  That the prince would be alone in a room...  with _him_.  All things known to him said it shouldn't have even been possible. 

To make matters worse, Prince Adam wasn't known for his kindness.  Only eleven years old and the young prince, one who had to wait until his 15th year to be called king, already had people trembling when they came into his presence.  He was said to be cold, merciless, as his father, the King, had been.  

Gaston had even once heard whispers that the prince had had something to do with his parents' deaths, but those words had been immediately squashed by the teacher who had overheard them and had called out their absurdity and underlining blasphemy.  Gaston had felt lucky to walk out of the school that day after she'd gotten done with them. 

Nonetheless, with that memory reborn in his head, Gaston began to fear for his life and, no stranger to taking the fatal shot, wished for his bow and arrows he'd left in the wagon.  But in the next thought, he couldn't believe he'd even thought it.  This was his prince.  His future king!  To even think about killing him... 

Prince Adam walked up to him, his steps slow, calculated, as if he could control everything that was about to happen. With thirteen years to Gaston's name, Gaston was a little bit more than surprised when he realized the younger boy, his future king, came up to just under his brow, forcing Prince Adam to look up at him. 

Up close, with an arm's length between them, the prince's blue eyes were even more startling, the clearest blue Gaston had ever seen, even with the hints of green and yellow flecked through them.  Looking down at them, Gaston felt something completely different, something he'd never felt before for anyone.  It was a startling sensation, one only driven on by the intensity of those blue eyes, a look much too old for the body that contained it.  That intensity, everything about Prince Adam, made Gaston feel weak with...  something.   

He couldn't help but remember what his friends had said they felt for the girls of the village, something he really couldn't comprehend, at least not to the degree that they apparently did.  At that moment though, Gaston thought he understood completely. And he found himself wanting to touch the prince so badly that it brought his body to sweat and his breaths to go haywire. 

Was Prince Adam's auburn hair as soft as it looked?  Was his pale, unblemished, clearly unworked skin just as soft?  What about his breaths as the escaped Prince Adam's slightly parted lips.  And his lips...  They had to be as soft as they looked.   

Looking at those lips, Gaston suddenly understood then why people wanted to kiss.  Why they wanted to touch each other.  He completely understood and that understanding burned in his groin in a way he'd never thought possible outside of an occasional unwanted stiffening from a dream he'd just escaped.  This... 

This was like cruel torture because he knew he could never, ever touch the prince. 

It was made even crueler when Prince Adam cleared his throat dismissively as he looked to the plate, a slight frown aging him, and said, "Was the meal to your liking?" 

"Uh, yes, Monsieur.  I mean, Your Majesty." 

The formal final word brought the younger boy's blue eyes back up to stare with a aloofness Gaston could never hope to emulate.  But Prince Adam's words told a different story when he asked quietly, "Why do you stare at me so?" 

"I..."  Gaston's mind went completely blank.  How could he ever hope to answer that question and not bring about some surely well-deserved punishment or death?  To want to touch this boy...  No, he could never admit it.  Instead, he said the only thing his young brain could conceive of saying: "Why do you stare at _me_ like that?" 

The redhead blinked right before his frown deepened.  "I'm not staring." 

Gaston huffed lightly, almost choking on a buildup of saliva.  "But you are." 

The boy's narrow jaw tightened.  Gaston once again feared for his life.  Could he possibly say anything stupider?  Even after growing up in the village, Gaston knew this wasn't how one talked to the crowned prince.  Such familiar words were for friends, family members.  Not royalty. 

And why _was_ the prince staring?  Surely it wasn't the same reason Gaston was.  Right?  For that matter, why was the prince even in his room?  ...As if it could ever be Gaston's room. 

Apparently deciding to ignore the accusation, for the most part, Prince Adam looked him over instead, from head to toe and back again.  When their eyes met, he asked, "You're a hunter?" 

Gaston swallowed down the lump in his throat.  "Yes. ...Your Majesty." 

"Have you killed many beasts?" 

Gaston tried a slight smile.  He couldn’t really help it.  Hunting was one of his true pleasures, one that he'd taken to even as a small child.  He loved everything about it: the patience the hunt required, the stalking with quiet feet and breaths, the precision it took for the perfect kill, the way his blood gushed through his veins through every moment of it. "Yes, Your Majesty.  My father has come to depend on me.  His eyes are not what they used to be." 

The younger boy took a small step forward. "Do you use a gun?" 

"Sometimes.  My father prefers it and it was what he taught me on."  Gaston cleared his throat at the way the other boy seemed to ride on his every word.  "But...  I mostly use a bow.  It takes more technique, but it's quiet.  I had to teach myself how to use it." 

The prince watched him for a few unnerving moments before crossing his arms over his thick robes.  Apparently Prince Adam had come to a decision as he stated, "Tomorrow, you will teach me how to use a bow." 

Gaston's jaw dropped a bit before he could stop it at the sudden words that were certainly a command, one the prince obviously expected to be obeyed without question considering his impassive face.  "Your Majesty, I...  I don't think it's my place." 

The prince's eyes narrowed.  "Your place is what I say it is." 

No matter the truth in the words, Gaston instantly bristled as he heart thudded and brought heat to his face, stealing it right from his groin.  He clenched his teeth at words that demanded release.  Then he had to clench his fists before he grabbed the boy in some absurd attempt to take control over the situation.  But he wasn't that stupid.  This was a battle he could never win, despite everything in him screaming the fallacy of that truth. 

When Gaston said nothing, didn't dare to, the prince eyed him for another moment before he said, "In the morning, after breakfast." 

Gaston nodded with a slight jerking of his head.  That seemed to satisfy the prince well enough as the younger boy turned around and left the older boy to stew in his foolish anger over something he couldn't possibly hope to control.  Nor could Gaston help but regret ever stepping foot in this God forsaken castle. 


End file.
